


Dirty Little Secret (Kinktober 2019)

by prisonmechanic



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Deepthroating, Distension, I'm Not Ashamed, Kink Negotiation, Kinktober, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Praise Kink, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, exebitionism, voyerism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-09 06:10:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20848781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prisonmechanic/pseuds/prisonmechanic
Summary: Kinktober 2019!Adventures on the lost light,Lots and lots and lots of kink. Like I'm going ham this month. Be prepared.Kink/ pairing will be in the notes for that chapter





	1. The List

**Author's Note:**

> Rodimus/ Ultra Magnus
> 
> Day 1-  
Deepthroating/ face fucking

“What is this?” Ultra Magnus asks, waving the datapad in front of Rodimus. He almost looks angry, but there's something unusual behind it. 

Rodimus cocks an optical ridge up at him from his place lounging on his bed. When he had agreed to Magnus staying the night he hadn't expected to spend the first few hours  _ cleaning _ . But if it finally let his second in command relax for a night of cuddling then he would allow it. 

Even if he might have stopped cleaning ten clicks ago.

Silently he takes the pad and glances at it with half-care until he realizes exactly what he's holding. Immediately the color from his faceplates drains. 

“Look Rodimus you really shouldn’t leave such profane material laying around,” Ultra Magnus scolds, “and if I'm being completely honest if this is your attempt at some mortifying joke-”

“Yeah a joke,” Rodimus looks up to Ultra Magnus and provides a small, crooked grin.

Rodimus shuts the device off quickly shoves it into the shelf by his berth. Standing he moves over the pile Ultra Magnus sorting through and receives the rest of the datapads and begins shoving them onto the shelf.

“Is that enough?” Rodimus asks. 

Ultra Magnus takes the moment to scan around the room before nodding. 

It's not until after they lay down for a movie, curl up with each other and Rodimus has fallen asleep that Ultra Magnus finds himself glancing back at that shelf. With Rodimus curled up sprawled along his frame, it takes some very delicate choice movements to get himself in a position where he can reach it. Nudging it with his fingers delicately it eventually falls into his palm and he can bring it back to his chest. 

Rodimus shifts.

Pausing, the large mech takes a moment to make sure the red mech on him is still asleep before booting the pad and it contents up and online. 

_ Fuck machine _

_ Humiliation _

_ Object Insertion _

The list goes on and on and Ultra Magnus tanks turn. Though he's not sure why. Some of the words he doesn’t even understand. The suggestions seem completely and utterly degrading but there's a small excitement that builds in him. It's not until he reaches  _ fisting _ that he realizes that there's lubricant building behind his valve cover. 

Rodimus stirs again. 

This time his optics open with a groggy reluctance, likely drawn to the light. 

Ultra Magnus immediately shuts off the Datapad and puts it aside.

“Don’t tell me you’re doing reports in berth,” Rodimus complains. Slowly he drags himself up the larger mech's chassis and nuzzles his neck cabling, “I could think of better things to do if you’re not tired you know.”

“Are you unsatisfied?” Ultra Magnus blurts.

Rodimus peals back, sleep still heavy in his motions, “Huh?”

“Are you unsatisfied. In berth? The datapad…?”

If Rodimus wasn't fully awake before he was now. Holding onto Magnus’ shoulder Rodimus’ expression went sour. 

“I told you it was a joke,” Rodimus tried to play off, “Of course I’m satisfied Mags.”

He was too defensive; too divergent. 

“What is it?” Ultra Magnus asks again. 

“I said it was a joke Magnus can’t you just leave it?” Now he's not even trying to hide his irritation. Pulling himself off of the large mech under him, Rodimus grabs the datapad and shoves it back on the shelf.

“Some of that stuff is extremely dangerous,” Ultra Magnus sat himself more upright, “not to mention completely humiliating and painful.”

“I know!” Rodimus snaps, “I don’t need some stupid lecture okay. I get it. It's weird and gross and it’s not right I get it!”

“So you admit to having an interest in them?”

Rodimus doesn't speak for a moment but the shudder in his frame betrays him. 

“Look Mags, it’s not the stuff I'd ever ask of you. I’m perfectly happy doing our usual stuff. Can we just please forget about it? Please? I'm sorry you had to see it.”

Rodimus sounds so defeated; he looks deflated as if his usual bravado had been sucked out of him. 

It's a touchy subject apparently. 

Slowly Magnus reaches over and pulls the datapad back out. Rodimus doesn't try to stop him this time. Instead he lays his helm in his servos and mumbles something incomprehensible into them. 

“I won’t lie Rodimus. Some of this stuff is out there but...” Magnus takes a large invent, “Is this stuff you want?”

“We don’t have to I know it’s bad-”

“Rodimus. Answer the question,” his voice is commanding but it gets across to the smaller mech. 

Rodimus nods, his helm still buried in his servos.

Ultra Magnus shifts through the datapad once more before settling on an option. 

“Come here Rodimus,” Ultra Magnus commands again and to his surprise Rodimus looks up at him and shuffles back to the berth. 

Rodimus is stiff. Magnus is unsure. But the larger mech is determined. 

“Relax,” Ultra Magnus brings his hand up and grabs Rodimus’ smaller one, “I’m not upset. I don’t think it's gross. Admittedly I'm put off but I'm open to the idea.”

“... What?” Rodimus gapes. 

“Come here,” Ultra Magnus motions between his legs. 

Tentatively Rodimus gets the idea and comes in close, standing between the larger mech's legs. 

“I don’t want to do anything you’re uncomfortable with,” Ultra Magnus starts. Admittedly it was more likely Rodimus would do something that Magnus wouldn't like but he feels as if he needs to voice the sentiment. 

Rodimus doesn't seem to understand the sentiment at first but then suddenly it clicks, “You won’t. Mags you won’t. I don’t know what to say, thank you. I’m just… look thank you. You don't have to if you don't want to.”

It’s easier not to argue with Rodimus, “You say ‘stop’ and this stops. Okay?”

The red mech nods enthusiastically. 

“On your knees.”

And just like that Rodimus is kneeling. Slowly his fingers trail along Magnus’ thighs. An anxious excitement flows off him but he holds still, balancing himself awkwardly on the tips of his pedes and his knees. 

Rodimus licks his lips. 

Between the datapad earlier and the small mech below him basically pawing at him it doesn't take long for his spike to ping for it's release. Magnus ignores it. 

Instead, he gently brings one of his servo's down behind Rodimus’ helm and pushes it forward. Bringing Rodimus lips to the sensitive seams between his legs finally brings some desperately needed friction to the plating. The red mech lick slowly, deliberately laying the flat of his glossa along the seam of his spike housing. 

Rodimus focuses his attention there for only a few nano-clicks before the pinging becomes insistent and Magnus allows the plating to click out of the way and his spike pressurizes fully. 

It hits Rodimus in the face, catching him off guard and forces a small gasps from his lips. 

“Which one?” he asks softly. 

“You know I’m a fan of procedures Rodimus,” the large mech says, “the first one. Tap my badge if you want to stop.”

Some sort of recognition crossed Rodimus’ faceplates and he swallows hard. It takes no more prodding to get the captain to start licking again; this time focused at the base of his spike. He continued there, and it took Magnus a moment to realize he was waiting for some sort of direction. 

Bringing both servos to the back of Rodimus’ helm the second in command bright his helm up towards the tip of his spike. Magnus gave a passing thought to the size difference between them and now uncomfortable this may be but Rodimus seemed so enthusiastic he decided they would cross that hurdle when they got there. 

Magnus brought Rodimus up and pushed his lips over the head of his spike. 

Rodimus moaned loudly as if trying to put on a show for his partner. His jaw stretched obscenely over the girth of Magnus’ spike. He could feel the small pricking from the tips of Rodimus’ teeth and pulled back slightly. 

“Gonna have to work you slow,” The large mech rumbled, “Don’t want any unnecessary issues right?”

Rodimus went to nod but as he did so was pushed back down, this time the tip nudging at the back of his mouth. 

“I’m surprised at how easy this is,” Ultra Magnus hummed, “What a good mech.”

Rodimus wanted to beam up at Magnus but focused instead on the next oncoming push. It came slowly, the top of the Magnus’ spike pushed back the breach of his throat and Rodimus tensed. 

The obstruction choking him came entirely in contrast with the wave of heat the act sent between his legs. He held the best he could but as Ultra Magnus pushed a little more and he spasmed on a stifled gag and the larger mech pulled fully out. 

Rodimus coughed into his own servo but immediately brought his lips back to Ultra Magnus's array. 

“Again,” he begged.

The concern slipped from the larger mech's field and Ultra Magnus forced his mouth back onto his spike. This time he pushed in faster.

“I want to see how long I can hold you down. I want to throat fuck you,” Ultra Magnus snapped out, seemingly surprising them both. 

Rodimus brought his own helm back down again. He could only go down so far without assistance, but Magnus was happy to help, placing a servo on the back of Rodimus' helm and pushing down slowly. 

There's a resistance, but then a small pop, as his spike breaches down into Rodimus' intake. Rodimus sputters again, oral lubricant leaking out of his mouth and down his chin as he jolts. But Magnus holds him down long enough for Him to adjust and sallow. 

"Good boy," Ultra Magnus hums. The words feel awkward as they touch his lips but the way Rodimus' field lights up is worth it. 

He makes a mental note of that as he slowly moves his hips back, and then forward again, allowing Rodimus to get used to the motion. 

The squeeze of Rodimus' intake like this, lips forced down to Magnus' pelvic span and the way Rodimus field is almost on fire is almost too much. Very suddenly Ultra Magnus realizes exactly why Rodimus wanted this. And exactly why someone would enjoy it. 

Rodimus' optics were bright, looking up at him with a wild excitement as lubricant spilled out around the spike in his intake. 

Ultra Magnus started thrusting in earnest. He brought his other servo down, feeling along Rodimus' neck as his spike forced the tubing to stretch. He could see his pike down Rodimus' intake, how his thrusts were getting more frantic and less restrained. 

"Tap my knee twice if you want this to stop,"

Rodimus didn't move, instead blinking up at him and giving a full frame shudder. 

"Good-- Good boy," Megnus trust up, punctuating the praise. He loomed over Rodimus, venting heavy as the Prime bellow took his spike again and again. 

His overload snuck up on him, and Magnus spilled down Rodimus' intake with a shout. He forced him down the whole way, pressing his nose against Meagnus' pelvic span. To rodimus' credit, he tried to swallow, but some of the transfluid slipped between his lips, making more of a mess of his faceplates. 

Slowly, he helped the prime of his spike. 

"Are you alrig-" 

"Frag me," Rodimus carelessly wiped his lips with the back of his servo, clawing his way up Magnus' lap. His voice box is horse, and obviously strained, "Come on. Frag me." 

When Rodimus finds his way onto his second's lap, his valve panel is open, and lubricant is dripping down his thighs. His biolights still waver with a wild need. 

Ultra Magnus takes it in, looking over his captain with an excited interest of his own. 

Its going to be a long night. 


	2. At the Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ultra Magnus / rodimus
> 
> Drift/ ratchet
> 
> Some Drift/ rodimus as well
> 
> Voyeurism, exebitionism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naughty naughty

"Does Rodimus look different to you?" 

"What do you mean? I don't exactly have time to stare at him like you do." 

"No," Drift turns around, looking back at Ratchet on the other side of their booth at swerves. "No, I mean he just looks different. Like his Aura has changed or something." 

Ratchet rolls his optics, crossing his arms and glaring critically at his companion. To humour him, Ratchet turns his helm to look at the Prime. He’s settled in a booth on the opposite side of the bar. Ultra Magnus is beside him, and their both sipping some concoction swerve had made that night. Though Magnu’s face is stoic, Rodimus beside him is beaming, lip plates pulled between his dentae as if excited about something. 

“He looks like he's out on a date,” Ratchet snarks, “You know, like we are. And Rodimus doesn’t look like he’s preoccupied with the business of other mechs.”

“Sorry. Sorry, Ratch. Of something was up, Rodimus would tell me,”

"Good. Now, are you gonna finish telling me about those exercises?" Ratchet asks and sits back in his seat. He picks up his drink, sipping it as he waits for Drift to continue. 

Drift opens his mouth once more ready to go on about a new training regiment he's starting. Undoubtedly, Ratchet would be far more interested in that than whatever Aura Rodimus is giving off. But Drift gives Rodimus and Ultra Magnus' table one more time, and he realizes exactly why Rodimus looks different. 

Drift closes his mouth. 

It's an odd angle, and Drift is sure he's the only one that can see it. With the way Ultra Magnus is on the outside of the booth with Rodimus tucked in beside him, it takes just the perfect angle to see the way Magnus' servo moves under the table and between Rodimus' thighs. His motions are slow and teasing, and above the table Rodimus has both servos on his drink, almost as if strangling it. 

Drift feels his own array start to heat up. Ultra Magnus, dual appointed officer of the Tyrest Accord, was two digits deep into Rodimus' valve. Drift looks down at his own energon and crosses his legs, desperate to keep himself under control and inconspicuous. 

"What?" Ratchet asks, looking back towards Rodimus. 

"Don't look!" Drift snaps back at him, probably harsher than he meant to, "Don't-- don't stare." 

"Stare at what? Their drinks?"

Drift clears his vocalizer, trying to keep it steady as he looks over again. 

Rodimus slides down in his chair, spreading his legs a little further. It's then that Drift can see the red and yellow lines of his valve, how it stretches obscenely over both of Magnus' digits. Lubricant coats them as they slide in and out of the Prime. It makes Drift's vents stutter, his array tingle. Rodimus is so alluring like that, and it has Drift wondering what he would look like, trying to keep his composure what Ratchet touches him like that 

But of course, Ratchet can't see any of it from his angle. 

"Drift. I swear to the pit if this is some Primus wish wash-- this is supposed to be date night--" 

Drift leans in, optics meeting Ratchet as he lets the smallest brush of his field reach the medic. The entire situation has caught him off guard, he doesn't know what to do about it. Especially with his own growing arousal. So he looks to Ratchet, optics wide and innocent. 

"Come here," Drift asks, "Come sit beside me." 

It's a miracle on its own that Ratchet obeys without any more snark. He stands up, twists around and slides in beside Drift in the booth seat. Ratchet gives him one last half annoyed--half curious look before looking over to Rodimus again. 

Ratchet goes still. 

"Well I do suppose  _ that  _ would change your Aura or whatever." 

Drift nods as he steals another look, leaning over Ratchets shoulder. When their frames touch, he can feel just how cool Ratchet's plating is compared to his. 

"Drift," Ratchets vocalizer is low and quiet as he speaks, "are you running a  _ charge? _ " 

Drift pulls back, attention immediately snapping back to his own drink. He doesn't know what to say, because it's obvious now that he is, that he's running a charge from watching Rodimus get fragged under the table. He doesn't say anything, but the way his plating is pulled in tight and his field is alight with embarrassment, it gives him away easily. 

For a moment Ratchet doesn't say anything either, and they're both stuck sitting there in silence. 

Drift takes a swig of his drink. Ratchet reaches for his own. 

Drift can't help but feel like he's done something wrong. But it's Rodimus' fault for doing  _ that  _ in public. And Drift can't be blamed for getting turned on at the sight of someone getting splayed like that. But he doesn't want this hiccup to ruin date night. 

When he opens his mouth to speak, he's not sure exactly what he's going to say. But he knows he has to say something. 

But for the second time, his mouth slams shut. 

Ratchet moves his servo onto Drift's Thigh, sliding it over slowly, delicately, as if he'd testing the waters. He doesn't spend too much time waiting around. Instead his digits find Drift's valve cover, and run up and down it gently. 

Ratchet looks him over. Drift stares at him with confused interest. 

"Now this ain't a very orthodox way of doing this. So there's gonna be rules," Ratchets vocalizer has turned into something dark and wicked, and the noise goes straight to the pooling of heat between his thighs. 

"If you want this to stop, you're going to say so right now. We're gonna continue our date, and no one is gonna be angry at anyone. I'm not gonna be angry this didn't happen, and you're not gonna be angry at me for suggesting it. Both of us forget about it, clean slate." 

Drift shakes his helm. Because he does want this. Ratchets servo is still sliding up and down his panel in just the right way, and Rodimus a cross the bar is starting to shake. 

"Alright. Then I'm gonna ask for a colour. Green means go, yellow means something ain't right but it's minor, red is full stop. Either of us say it, everything stops. No questions. Alright?"

Drift nods, taking another swig of his drink for the bravery. Ratchet does the same. 

"Alright then," Ratchet takes a vent as if preparing himself as well, "colour? " 

"Green," Drift makes out, though it's a little shaky.

Ratchet taps on his valve cover, and Drift can't fight back the command to open it, even if he wanted too. Ratchets digits are soft, sliding up and down his valve like they were on his panel. He focuses on his drink, and enjoys the sensation. It's not enough to get him off in any way, but it's a start, and neither of them are done their drinks. 

::Naughty,:: Ratchet's message over the comms makes Drift jump, bit it's better than talking out loud, ::Getting charged in a public place like this. Why? Do you like watching someone else getting played with?::

Drift fights back a keen as Ratchet slides a digit past the folds of his valve. It's a tease, but it builds his charge, ebbing it up slowly. Drift closes his optics. It feels like a betrayal to look at Rodimus again, but with little else to focus on he needs some way to ground himself

"Drift?" 

Drift opens his optics just enough to look over to Ratchet. 

::Can I watch? Rodimus?:: He asks, knowing Ratchet needs some sort of response. 

::Answer the question first Drifter,:: Ratchet pulls his digit out, before adding two in its place. 

"Yes!" Drift says a little too loudly, finials dipping down in embarrassment, "Yes." 

::Than you can watch.::

Drifts helm flies up, looking around Ratchet at Rodimus and Ultra Magnus. Rodimus' servos are wound in fists on the table and he's leaned forward in his seat. The lights on his valve are glowing, dancing like flames as Ultra Magnus pressed his thumb against the speedsters anterior node. 

When Drift tries to take a sip of his own drink, Ratchet's digits curl upwards inside him, hitting a node cluster Ratchet knows too well. It almost makes him spit out his drink but instead he let out a shake vent in its place. 

:: Good:: Ratchet's message is almost a coo, :: Beautiful. You're doing so well.::

Rodimus legs tighten suddenly and he bends forwards, leaning over his table as a burst of fluids coats Ultra Magnus' servo between his legs. Rodimus holds there for a moment, shaking visibly. 

And then his helm snaps up, meeting Drift's optics. 

Oh frag they're caught--

The realization compounds with the feeling of Ratchet curling his digits again, this time assaulting that oh so sweet spot. It throws Drift into an overload of his own, the feeling just too much to take. His frame clamped down, and his legs clamped around Ratchet's servo, squeezing it into place against his own node. 

:: That was quick:: Ratchet smirks as he picks up his drink once more with his free servo. 

"He saw," Drift snapped up, releasing Ratchet's servo despite his hips feeling strut-less. 

"Well it's their fault. Doing this sort of thing in public comes with risks," Ratchet's optics almost roll back in his helm. When his optics fell on Drift, they softens to something more akin to concern. 

"Are you alright?" 

"Fine. Good. Amazing. Embarrassed. Concerned. Oh Primus it's going to be so awkward on the command deck next shift. I can't believe we just did that. That you agreed to do that--" 

Ratchet reaches for drifts servo, grabbing it with his still wet servo, "Close your panel." 

"Oh. Okay--"

Drift obeys, following Ratchet up out of the booth. He stays close, trying to hide his frame behind the medic. He doesn't look at Rodimus-- can't bare to. 

"We're going back to my place, and we're talking about this. Alright?" 

Drift bods, more embarrassed than ashamed. And surprisingly more excited than embarrassed.


	3. Full

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ultra Magnus/ Rodimus
> 
> Distension, submission/domination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little short this time. i cant do 2000 words every day sadly

Rodimus lets himself be manhandled by Ultra Magnus. Not doing so would likely result in another spanking, and though he found that incredibly hot the first time, he isn't looking to make his aft  _ that  _ sore on only the third item down the list. 

_ Distension.  _

Ultra Magnus had scoffed at the suggestion. It was likely one of the more tame ones for them; Magnus’ spike was at the end of Rodimus’ capacity. And it wasn’t uncommon at the right angle for Magnus to make his plating slightly bulge around his spike. 

So they decided to add to the idea. 

Though they had agreed Magnus would top for the list, mostly for the fact he didn’t exactly feel comfortable in any other position, they had been taking things slow on that front. Rodimus suspected it had something to do with Tyrest, but he’s not going to push the subject, to do so feels like asking too much too fast. Instead, he lets Magnus take the lead, going at a pace Rodimus enjoys, Slow and considerate. 

But tonight they’re going to take things a step forward. 

Magnus doesn’t ask if Rodimus is ready. He manhandles him, telling-- ordering him where to go and how to move. It’s different, authoritative, and a perfect step to take in more familiar territory. 

“Leg up,” Magnus orders, but even before Rodimus can try to comply, Magnus’ servo is under his leg, raising it up so he has to rest half of his weight into the servo and the other half against Magnus’ chest behind him. 

Rodimus has to rest his back against Magnus’s chest as he's maneuvered into his lap. His plating clatters as the anticipation builds. Already he's had to sit between Magnus’ legs and work his spike while he finished a report. Already he’s been spanked for being impatient. But finally, it looks as if he might get some pleasure of his own. 

He lets out a desperate keen, wiggling him aft to position himself closer to Magnus’ spike. It only earns him a squeeze against his thigh and a scoff from Magnus.

“Do I neglect you so much that you have no self-control when I finally get to you?”

“No-- But--”

Magnus’ other servo slides up and wraps around the Prime’s neck. It squeezes just enough to be a threat that cuts him off. Rodimus’ field fills with encouragement, something he’s starting to get used to doing to guide Magnus somewhat. 

“Oh Rodimus, are we going have to relearn the rules? I thought you understood earlier that I will not discount capital punishment when considering your discipline,” Ultra Magnus purrs directly against the back of Rodimus’ helm.

“No, Officer! I’m sorry!” Rodimus cries. A comeback is right on his lip plates, but his desperation wins out. If obedience will get him fragged, Rodimus relents that he’d probably grovel if asked to.

“Better,” Magnus lets Rodimus’ throat cabling go. Instead, sliding that servo down his front and to his valve. He doesn’t waste time, and Rodimus is thankful for it, delving two digits into his waiting valve easily.

“My, you’re so worked up, perhaps I have been neglectful,”

Rodimus thinks its the fact he didn’t think he’d ever do this for real that makes him so worked up any time Ultra Magnus even suggests the list. But as soon as they’re fragging, Rodimus is an absolute mess; valve soaked and engine rumbling. 

The large digits in him are gone almost as soon as they had arrived, leaving Rodimus feeling empty. But thankfully Magnus seems just as impatient as he is, and Rodimus is lowered down slowly. 

Magnus’ spike splits him apart when he’s this unprepared. It forces his valve open and wide, not relenting until it seats itself fully in him. The process is slow, aided by just how lubricated Rodimus is. Rodimus can see how, with Magnus holding his leg up and with his frame forced back, that the spike within him is pressed forward. 

When he's fully seated Rodimus is panting, leaning back and whining with little abandon. He can see Magnus' spike within him. The way his frame tries to compensate the intrusion is a different kind of erotic. 

Slowly, he brings his servo up, rubbing it against the bulge in his plating. 

"Its too big for your frame, but somehow, you always seem to manage," Behind him, Magnus sighs contently. 

"What can I say? Just another thing I'm good at--" 

"Rodimus!" Magnus snaps. 

"Sorry Officer," Rodimus apologies, but it's more teasing and snarky than truly submissive. 


End file.
